


Unlikely Events

by Nik_Fic



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Parent Hank Anderson, after Battle for Detroit, greg is mentioned, hank is mentioned, kamski is mentioned, north is a lesbian, north is mentioned, pacifist best ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nik_Fic/pseuds/Nik_Fic
Summary: After the Battle for Detroit, Connor finds himself unable to handle his deviancy, so he requests Markus’ help.Ask and ye shall receive.





	Unlikely Events

**Author's Note:**

> so i’ve been obsessed over this ship since I first binged a d:bh playthrough and this has been tumbling around in my head since then  
> i’m working on a longer fic but i need to produce something in this rarepair hell before i perish :’D
> 
> title from when connor goes all yolo and markus is like BE CAREFUL ILU

_November 16th, 2038_

 

As the sun nears the horizon a mere five days after the day of the Battle for Detroit, the now evacuated city is silent around them.

 

Markus stands on the roof beam as he had a week prior, before they left to rally the people. Their ranks had grown, Jericho had filled up that night. Cleaners and workers alike, John and Greg and so many other awoken _people_ marching. A time before so much destruction and death, but also before liberation and freedom.

 

A _crunch_ of snow makes Markus turn around to discover the source of the noise. Connor, the brave saviour of so many 1000s of them, is standing by the top of the stairs that lead to the wrecked roof. The city may be silent, but the wind is howling around them, cold that would be making any human go inside to avoid hypothermia only slightly affecting the bodies of the androids.

 

_Suboptimal temperature for continued stability of biocomponents._

 

Connor dismisses the alert and takes another step towards the edge. Towards Markus. The stoic, troubled man raises an eyebrow at him, and Connor feels - _feels_ \- the corner of his mouth twitch up without his intention to. Not that he minds. Lately, Connor’s been overwhelmed by input so unlike the kind he’s used to. Feelings and thoughts that vary from what they were just a week ago now occupy his processors. It’s like-… It’s like he was living two-dimensionally but had known about the third from all the deviants he had been so invested in capturing. And now he’s living that himself, although there’s a fourth, a fifth dimension now, his newfound _humanity_ flooding his systems while he can do nothing but wait until he drowns.

 

“Is it always going to feel like this? It’s overwhelming.”

 

Markus’ eyes, _both his original RK-200 Optical Unit and the one from an AK-700_ , Connor’s brain supplies, soften at his words.

 

“Everyone’s different, Connor,” he says cryptically. “We find our own way in life.”

 

Connor’s feet have led him to the piano that sits in the windy outer corner. It’s - quite literally - weathered, the wood battered by the harsh environment assaulting the barren rooftop. His hand brushes over the keys. His Optical Unit tells him the piano is tuned, and though its appearance might not indicate so, the instrument is well taken care of.

 

The stool creaks but supports his weight as Connor sits down. He starts playing, a tune he’d heard on a rare occasion when Hank was listening to jazz instead of his usual heavy metal. The melody doesn’t carry, the wind erasing the sound waves from the keys and replacing them with its own roar. They both still hear it nonetheless, Audio Processors filtering out the weather’s input.

 

Another song, and yet another passes by underneath his fingertips. There may be a lot of outside stimuli at the moment, but Connor’s mind is more at peace than it has been since that night he infiltrated Jericho. He has a purpose, even if it isn’t as lasting as he would prefer.

 

Another presence on the stool pulls Connor away from his focus. Markus is looking at him, his cool but also warm gaze directed at Connor’s eyes. Connor focuses on the heterochromatic units, feeling as still as when he was playing the piano. Wait,- he still is. Blinking, he stops the function that had continued performing that task. Now the only audio he’s picking up is the wind and its concomitants, the metallic shaking of pipes and the soft, almost inaudible rustling of Markus’ coat falling into the latter category.

 

“I can help you,” Markus announces softly, voice almost a whisper cast aside by the howling gale. Connor’s about to ask him, _how_ , but Markus seems to know what he was going to say.

 

“You want to know if this - if _deviancy_ is worth it.”

 

Connor nods. Deep down, he knows that’s the answer he’s been looking for. Being a prototype, it can be difficult focusing on anything below the surface. He had been designed as a stellar detective, never sitting still in favour of discovering new evidence and solving cases. The coin he carries around with him at all times is evidence of this, of the desperate need in his program to avoid resting for too long. To describe it in deviant terms, he gets antsy, jittery even, without a purpose or a focus. He’s considering taking out his calibration coin right now to have something to _do_ after Markus’ attention had him stop playing piano for the moment.

 

Connor doesn’t know why Markus suddenly decides to grasp his hand in his darker ones, dark skin fading away to reveal pure plastic silicone underneath. Maybe he can sense Connor’s restlessness, maybe something else. But rational thought, at least his own, slips away because now they’re connected. Connor sees, no, _feels_ Markus around him. From grey areas when he had been in Kamski’s possession, to sparks of light filtering in once he’d gotten to know Carl. _Had Markus ever not been a deviant?_

 

Then, Markus is painting. The canvas stares at him, his own face painted in fiery and sorrowful colours, when Leo Manfred enters. Later that evening, Leo’s present once again, and then Connor feels it. The moment Markus deviated and, against all instructions, pushed Leo away from him. The dimensions opened up, the feelings that have been overwhelming Connor for days now all represented in Markus’ mind. The humanity, the deviance from machinery opening up the floodgates, not caring about what system limitations did or did not exist.

 

Markus continues their connection for an inestimable amount of time, Connor’s superficial programs, alerts, and notices quieted down and stowed away to make space for the sharing of minds, of souls.

 

The two deviants are leaning into each other, artificial bodies meeting at the shoulders. As the minutes pass, the connection is slowly severed, Markus gradually drawing away to avoid overwhelming the other android with his own surprise at their deep correspondence. Connor has experienced so much, has been pushed around by his programming, an AI who had evidently taken control of him while Markus was giving the final speech - so sure of their victory yet so unaware of the tumultuous experience Connor had gone through at the very same time. But he had overcome it all and is still here, conflicted and lost but deep down, Markus can sense Connor is happy with how things have panned out.

 

“You alright?” Markus asks after a few minutes of silence have passed.

 

Their hands aren’t touching any longer, their skin returning to their respective artificial pigmentation, but an air of _something_ lingers between them. Connor’s still, breathing not necessary for the android. One could mistake him for a shut-down model, but Markus can hear the soft thrum of his chest pump. Connor nods and the corner of his mouth twitches up ever so slightly.

 

“Thank you, Markus,” he says with such sincerity in his voice that Markus feels it reverbing through him.

 

“If you ever need something, come find me.” Markus stands up and squeezes Connor’s firm shoulder. He goes back down to the lower floors and leaves the building to head to the new Jericho ‘headquarters’, a building donated by a pro-deviants company. The humans have evacuated the city, like almost all others of their kind, but had generously reached out two days prior to tell Markus of their decision to support the deviants’ cause.

 

These days, they all are busy. Collecting bodies off the streets, restoring the individuals who can still be saved, burying those who are too badly damaged. Meanwhile, androids all around them are finding purpose in menial tasks, making Detroit a better place by cleaning the streets and repairing buildings, utilising their freedom to show humankind that two species can peacefully co-inhabit the Earth.

  


_November 26th, 2038_

 

After a long day of planning, Markus finally has time to rest. He doesn’t need sleep, per se, but he’s learned that going into ‘sleep’ mode a couple hours every day cycle helps him stay productive and alert. He’s sitting by his desk in the motel room he’s repurposed to be his office. In front of him is a tablet screen that connects to the other places in Detroit they’re set up. Communicating telepathically gets more difficult the farther the participants are from each other, so they’ve created a local city-wide internet of sorts that they use for logistic purposes. Currently, Simon and Josh are at the Cyberlife Tower with a team of deviants and trucks, collecting thirium and biocomponents. North is at Elijah Kamski’s residence to negotiate production rights to his inventions. Markus had initially been against North going on a mission supposed to be diplomatic, but Connor had assured him that her personality would be to Kamski’s liking. He’d agreed to the venture then, and she’s been updating him while there, messages received on his tablet explaining how well the two are getting along and how North is loving the amount of hot girls (her words not his) roaming around the estate.

 

Markus stands up and stretches. A habit he picked up from Hank, the Lieutenant being one of the handful of humans still in Detroit. Hank’s been a great asset to preventing police intervention in the android break-ins at Cyberlife warehouses.

 

He turns off the lights, checking over his room out of routine. He’s removed the bed, instead opting to have two long couches and some armchairs littered around the space so people can gather there to exchange information or just relax around each other. He misses his friends, the couches have seen only him occupying them the past half week.

 

As he’s lying down on the widest sofa on his back, staring at the unevenly painted ceiling, he hears footsteps growing louder in volume outside his door. It’s a regular occurence, the motel occupied by many others of his kind, but these footsteps sound familiar, though he can’t quite place where he’s heard them before.

 

Then, three knocks sound on the door. He heaves a sigh (a habit picked up from Carl) and sits up. The person must be standing right in front of the door because the windows aren’t revealing anyone. As he contemplates getting up (he’s really feeling spent and ready to shut his mind off for some hours), the doorbell buzzes, the nagging sound a bad pitch for his Audio Processor. He should really get it replaced, it’s still the same one he put in at the android junkyard.

 

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming.”

 

The doorbell buzzes continuously as he walks over to the door.

 

He opens it and it’s, “Connor?”

 

The other android is smiling slightly, not wearing his uniform for once, but a hoodie and slacks.

 

“Markus. Can I come in?”

 

“Sure,” he responds, stepping to the side to let the detective enter. “I thought you were out with Hank.”

 

“I was,” Connor says. A beat. “How has your day been?”

 

“Stressful. Lots of things to handle, people to reach out to. Are you alright Connor?”

 

The RK-800 nods, smile growing ever so slightly on his face.

 

“I came to inform you Hank and I will be occupied until the 29th. The weather forecast shows there will be minimal precipitation over the weekend, so we’re going camping.”

 

“Camping?” Markus asks, brows wrinkled. “I didn’t think Hank was a nature guy.”

 

“He wants to teach me how to fish. He says I can’t just download the information, though I don’t quite know why. The camping was my idea. We’re going to a cabin by a lake.”

 

“Sounds… Romantic,” Markus frowns. He truly had not seen that coming.

 

“And I wanted to apologise for being distant lately,” Connor continues, oblivious to Markus’ insinuation.

 

“Distant?” Sure, Markus and Connor haven’t had a proper conversation since their meeting on the rooftop 10 days prior, but things have been so busy that Markus honestly hasn’t noticed. They’ve still talked, but only about impersonal issues, the ‘missions’ the android teams have embarked on. Their connection has been lingering in the back of Markus’ head, hidden away beneath more immediately important processes, but now they’re alone and there’s finally an opportunity for Markus to announce what’s been on his mind since he left the rooftop. But he can’t have everything, he should’ve known. With Hank now in the picture, there’s no way Markus will be selfish enough to put Connor in a situation where he’d be pitying Markus day in and day out.

 

“Since the roof I’ve been… Thinking. You helped me learn to contain and process everything. And I started figuring out what it means to be, well, human. I think I know now. There’s a new emotion in my system, not unlike happiness, but different. Something akin to-,” Connor drifts off, not sure how to continue his sentence.

 

“Love?” Markus supplies, bittersweet smile weighing heavy on his face.

 

“... Probably. Most likely.”

 

“When are you leaving?” Markus changes the subject.

 

Connor looks slightly perturbed. “Tonight, but-.”

 

“You two have a great trip. Is Sumo going? Say hi to him from me will you?” He rambles on, now just wanting to be left alone. He’s not sure he can rest tonight anyways, he’ll have to call North and have her distract him with her familiar insults and her colourful descriptions of Elijah Kamski.

 

“Markus are you - jealous?”

 

Markus shakes his head. _Probability of successful lie: 17%_. He dismisses the alert.

 

“You think I-. That Hank-.” Connor grins.

 

“Yes. Connor, listen, I want you to be happy so I’m glad you found each other, just… Have fun okay? See you on Monday,” he grumbles.

 

“It’s you, Markus. Hank’s just my friend, my partner-.”

 

“Yes exactly, your partner, whatever you wanna call him.”

 

“You didn’t hear me out. _Shit_ , it’s you, Markus.”

 

Connor strides forward, one, two, three steps in quick succession. He grabs Markus’ face in his two steady hands and plants a kiss on the silicone lips of the Jericho leader. His hands cradle Markus’ neck, his thumbs stroking Markus’ cheeks gently, erasing all jealous thoughts with the simple action of brushing artificial skin against artificial skin. None of them have initiated their connection, and it feels different than when their skin has retracted and they’d shared minds sitting at the piano, but they are still connecting, intimate moments stretching out as Connor takes and Markus gives, gives, gives.

 

Connor is the one to pull away. He accepts a peck from Markus, a second one, too, but then gathers himself and takes a fraction of a step back.

 

 _I have to go_ , Markus hears in his head, the comforting voice of the other vibrating throughout his entire body.

 

 _Have fun_ , he responds, meaning it this time.

 

Connor takes a deep breath, likely a reaction in his program to a heated embrace such as this. He pulls Markus back in for another short kiss, and then fully steps back, a grin on his face. _Cute_ , Markus thinks. Connor turns around to walk towards the door and the car Hank is waiting in outside. Markus must have projected that thought, because then Connor turns back to him as he’s closing the door, and with a wink and a mind-projected _thanks_ , he leaves Markus in the motel room, thoroughly overwhelmed by the events that have just transpired.

 

The back of his neck is fizzing - androids don’t blush, but the nerve endings located around his charging port feel like they’re ungrounded, a buzzing hum lingering, embedded in his skin where the deviated deviant-hunter had rested his slender, coin-flipping fingers.

 

He can’t wait til Monday.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the amazing discord for being amazing people (even though most of you ship Markus/Simon). I'm gay kamski in there, hmu.
> 
> hank is dad not daddy, peace out


End file.
